Every Autumn

"The thing about the beams that supports this floor, is that they're 97 inches by 714 centimetres; that's the golden ratio, I mean it's nearly the golden ratio, I mean, if you squint, it, I mean… It's interesting because the golden ratio is also a way of finding prime numbers, or, it's all prime numbers, or... Sorry, prime numbers are numbers that can't be divided by themselves; does that make sense? Isn't that interesting? Sorry."

She didn't answer, but then she never did. He smiled at the semblance, their unspoken understanding; his rambling, her blind adoration. It was beautiful. She lay on the bed; as she always did; in the patch of sun shining through the dust pouring in through the cracked studio windows.

He sat on the edge, babbling about nothing important; which made it all the more special.

"Blood's interesting too; the pressure it's under inside your body is incredible. When we release this pressure with a prick or a cut, it comes out; it's surprising when it does, isn't it. It's so fast, so strong. It's beautiful. Sorry."

She didn't answer, but then she never did. He didn't mind; at least...

She stared at him with that long, slow, unblinking stare she always had. He looked back then grew bashful, as he always did, and shifted his gaze to the floor.

They'd been like this for a while; in limbo. He spoke, she listened, life went on. They used to talk together, talk more; but eventually she ran out of things to say and just listened. That was okay. Lawrence missed the laughter though; they used to laugh together. She hadn't really laughed since the day he'd saved her from drowning.

He stiffened at the memory, and felt her stiffen with him. So he came close, as he always did, and stroked her neck softly with the backs of his fingers, speaking gently.

"We're okay baby; we're okay. You don't have to say anything until you want to."

She didn't answer but then...

He pretended that he didn't mind; tried to believe it too. Her cold dead silence was just her way, and that had to be okay if they were going to stay like this; this balancing act that made life worth it.

But her silence always reminded him of Rose. In a way it had all started with Rose. Theirs was a different love affair; passionate and vibrant. They used to dance; with pain and colour and danger around the floor of his apartment; laughing, listening to Mozart, living, breathing. But then, bit by bit, she stopped speaking to him. She stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped everything. He tried to help; tried to feed her and stroke her back into reality. But where she'd gone, he could never go.

Eventually his patience had worn thin and things turned violent. One night in Autumn; he would never forget it. He'd grabbed her and she cut him; his blood bringing colour back to her cheeks for the first time since he'd plucked her from the dirt where he'd found her so many days and weeks before. After that, the love that had blossomed between them was dead forever.

They'd ended it, in the park where they'd first met, on the bench overlooking the lake in the heart of the park. When he'd sat there explaining the structural integrity of the bridge going over the lake, the importance of flying buttresses, the weight of the wood; and she'd... listened. She'd actually listened, no one ever listened. He looked back at that bridge then, with her at the beginning, and with her at the end. It was almost amicable; no words were spoken, no tears were shed; just a deep sadness for what had happened, and a respect for what they'd had.

But now it was all happening again with Lily; and Lawrence couldn't let it. Lily was different, she was special. Where Rose was all flair and bravado, a whirlwind affair, a flash in the pan; Lily was subtle; calm, collected. She relaxed him, and he loved everything about her. She loved him unconditionally. After all, he was the one who had saved her.

In the weeks between the two relationships Lawrence had been in a daze, mindless, roaming around the park near the flat; trying to remember Rose, trying to forget her, trying to remember why he needed to forget, trying to -

And then he saw her. Lily. Drowning.

In the middle of the lake, alone, face up, but still and silent and dead to the world. Nobody helped. No one even looked. The world just walked on, passers by passed by and ignored the soul crying out to be saved in front of them; but not Lawrence. Lawrence had dived in without a seconds thought, and plucked her from her fate. He'd taken her to the shore and warmed her, kissed her, cradled her, held her until he felt her breathe.

They'd never been apart since then. He never asked why she tried to do it; such questions were pointless; he knew the difficulties of life as well as anyone, the isolation, the loneliness. But for a while, days, weeks, he didn't know anymore; they'd had each other.

So why was she too now leaving him? Silently.

Lawrence would do everything he could to protect what they had. He cradled her, careful not to block out the light from the window. She loved the light, needed it; needed him.

"I love you"

He kissed her head, her petal cheeks, her stem neck.

She didn't respond, but then, she never did.

"Do you want your bath?"

She didn't answer, but then, she never did.

He knew what that silence meant. He got the cup, filled it up, and put her in it gently. She seemed to relish the water, floating in a circle slowly, staring at him.

She didn't thank him, but then...

He held her to his chest, slowly breathing.

She didn't breathe, but then, she never did.